Exotic Exploration

Well it’s only been the first week of school and I’ve already taken my first sick day. I suppose this is completely normal not only for new teachers but also when living in a village with its own supply of unique germs. The rain has recently been non-stop but the few nice days of sunshine allowed me to investigate the place I now call home. I had visited Shungnak back in May where snow covered everything, but now I’m able to glimpse an entirely new perspective of the village. Much greener.

I thought about taking a walk by myself along the gravel road that leads out of town toward another village called Ambler. (The gravel road eventually fades to trails which leads to the Kobuk river). I initially had thoughts about doing an all-day hike over to Ambler, but was informed that almost nobody walks due to the fact you have to cross the huge riverbed in order to get to Ambler. (Maybe during Winter when it ices over, I’ll try it).

Walking alone in the Alaskan wilderness is such a unique experience. I’ve been hiking and done plenty of trails back in the lower 48, but being alone with the absence of car noises or other people is a humbling feeling. Not to say that it was a quiet walk. Birds and ravens chatter and squawk just as loud as the cars and people. However, to be honest, it was also a bit frightening, realizing that at any turn of the bend a bear, wolf, or moose may pop out. When hiking the popular touristy-trails of the lower 48, I had taken for granted potential dangerous wildlife and could hike with moderate ease and no alarm for my personal safety.

After venturing about 2 miles and realizing I had told no one where I was going, I turned around blaming my change of direction on the fact that a rain storm was coming and definitely not due the image in my mind of being chased down by a grizzly.

Returning to my apartment, I was welcomed to the static of the VHF radio, basically a giant village-wide walkie talkie, announcing that there was going to be a bake sale to raise money for a woman who recently lost a family member in a neighboring village. Money would go toward purchasing airfare for the family in Shungnak to attend the funeral in the village Kiana.

My roommates and I grabbed our rain coats and bolted out the door. It’s not every day one can purchase homemade baked goods in the middle of the Alaskan bush. The announcement was basically the equivalent of sounding the gun signaling the “on your mark, get set, GO”, resulting in a village wide foot race for the pies. The baked goods were located in a local house and were delicately heaped onto the kitchen table.

The aroma of Jello, cakes, cupcakes, maple bars, personal pizzas, popcornballs, pies, and cinnamon rolls enveloped you as soon as you entered the doorway. After purchasing and inhaling a cinnamon roll, I realized this was the first house I had entered belonging to a native of Shungnak. Inside was a cozy home complete with kitchen, living room, and bathroom. The “mud room” entry way held an allotment of coats and furs. Stepping into the living room was a combination of entertainment area, eating area, and laundry room. Bare pipes running along the ceiling connecting rooms had become the house “dryer” as socks, shirts, and other articles of clothing were hung along the tubes. Two couches outlined the room providing seating for the villagers coming in. If you looked closer you would realize that these couches were actually the beds for children evidenced by Spiderman and Disney princess bed sheets. What a humbling thought to look back and realize the privilege of growing up with my own personal bedroom and place to lay my head. By this time, a line of villagers was forming outside the door and I made my exit from the home.

Friday was the big day. Shungnak was welcoming a visitor. And not just any visitor, but the Alaskan state Senator, Lisa Murkowski. No one this politically important had visited the village for the past decade. Two years ago, President Obama had visited a city on the coast about two hours west, but visits to small villages are practically unheard of. Students and teachers lined the river bed as we waited for the Senator to arrive by boat. Each student held a hand-made sign welcoming the Senator to our village. Lisa seemed to genuinely enjoy the welcome and as soon as her mud boots hit the sand she was shaking hands with the nearest students. After introductions and greetings were made, we marched up the hill back to the school where an assembly was being held.

As we were walking back, a 9th grade girl leaned over to me and whispered, “What is a Senator? What do they do?” After supplying the answer, I began thinking of the opportunities I had growing up to rub shoulders with politicians, canvas houses in support of a candidate, join a protest rally, and debate politics. My own experiences and opportunities made politics a reality, something that I believed individuals could influence, even minutely, in their city, states and nation. Is it possible that having someone represent me and my opinions in the political arena is something I’ve taken for granted? Of course, it’s true that politicians who I support rarely win, but often my ideals and values are at least an option to be considered. The concept of being represented politically is a very foreign concept to my students. What they see is a white, Alaskan lady representing the rest of Alaska, but not them. Not Shungnak. Shungnak, to my students, is its own world.

As I sit on my couch finishing this blog, the rain is still falling outside. Lightly falling. It’s an Alaskan rain like my grandfather would say. I’m surrounded by a wall of well-used Kleenex tissues and the only sound is that of my continuous coughing and sneezing. It’s been a week of exotic exploration into the the environment and minds of the village people. I’m looking forward to a restful weekend and tackling next week as a healthy, Shungnak teacher.